


Silver and black

by ellenoruschka



Category: Romeo & Juliet - Toho Stage, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, As in Escalus is closer in age to the montacrew than we see in Toho and most other versions, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escy is Toho-based but younger, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I am sorry my story is so short and lame, I did my best, Ila please don't strangle me, Introspection, Lord Montague does not make an appearance and might be acting a bit, Out of Character, Post-Canon, Present Tense, Right?, Toho Lord M sure seems like a rough guy, and enjoy the thing!, but the key word is "yet", it is not exactly benscalus yet, or maybe not, they had to start from somewhere, you're free to imagine any version of Ben you like here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellenoruschka/pseuds/ellenoruschka
Summary: When nothing feels real, it is hard to believe people’s words. You don’t think they are lying, no; you just can’t bring yourself to believe they’re speaking the truth.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Romeo & Juliet / Romeo et Juliette Fanfic Exchange 2020





	Silver and black

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amitye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitye/gifts).



> This fic is a freeform interpretation of two prompts combined:  
> \- prompt 1: Character A is outcast by their family and have only Character B to turn to.  
> \- prompt 2: Benvolio and Escalus having A Conversation post play (Toho-inspired).
> 
> And look what it led me to.

When nothing feels real, it is hard to believe people’s words. You don’t think they are lying, no; you just can’t bring yourself to believe they’re speaking the truth. 

When nothing feels real and no one is there for you to bring reality back, you stop believing completely. 

Benvolio is always the one to hold on to reality. He is always the anchor, the one who keeps his friends from soaring too high or sinking too deep; the one who keeps bringing them back to the shore.

Until he can’t.

And reality crashes.

And everything is black.

* * *

“Are you certain?” Escalus looks troubled, and very tired, and so much older than he actually is that it should be unsettling. Benvolio nods awkwardly.

“Yes, sir. My uncle has no need of me, and he made it as clear as possible.”

“I gathered as much. I’m sorry for questioning you, Benvolio, but I had to be sure.” Escalus sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, a habitual gesture. “It seems I’ll have to talk to your uncle; until then, feel free to stay here.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you,” is that really his own voice? Since when does he sound so listless?

“Ah. You misunderstand me. By 'feel free to stay' I mean 'I insist that you stay', of course. I am absolutely not fond of what might happen to you if you don’t.”

It is what Mercutio had always called “uncle E’s trademark ‘do not argue’ face”, and Benvolio sure knows better than to argue, so he simply nods. Not that he has any energy for arguing anyway.

“Valentine,” the Mayor - or the Prince, as most citizens of Verona, including Benvolio, call him - reaches for his phone and starts typing, “will show you around. He’ll be with us in a few minutes, and a room will be ready for you upstairs after dinner.” 

Benvolio, of course, does not need to be shown around, being as intimately familiar with the house as he is; and Escalus knows that perfectly well, how could he not? But apparently he chooses to ignore the knowledge for the time being. In other circumstances, Benvolio would have probably been baffled, but here and now he doesn’t really care enough to question the Prince's choices.

There are too few things left that are still worth caring about. 

Escalus briefly looks up, giving Ben a warm smile, and focuses on his phone once again, looking a bit uncomfortable. Could the Prince possibly feel as awkward as Benvolio himself does?.. Probably yes. But whom else was he to turn to after Lord Montague decided to officially blame him for all wrongs, including Romeo’s death? Besides, it was not even Benvolio’s idea to begin with, Escalus had found him at Mercutio’s grave and insisted on talking to him all on his own. Okay, he had even taken Benvolio’s pen knife away, just in case; and considering the state he was in, Benvolio honestly couldn’t blame him for the precaution. But he also couldn’t care less.

Benvolio sighs. Being disinherited hurts significantly less than Mercutio’s and Romeo’s deaths do, and he has never cared about money and possessions all that much anyway; but he has also never felt so alone before.

So alone... and so vulnerable.

“I’ll leave you be for now.” 

Escalus rises from his heavy chair, and Benvolio blinks. The Prince always wears dark clothes, but without his customary silvery coat to brighten the image, the military black costume looks more like mourning attire.

Which, in fact, it is. 

The young Montague swallows. 

Right. 

It had been so easy to wallow in his own loneliness and grief, forgetting that there were other people around him who had also lost their loved ones. It had probably been so easy because somehow, none of those people — be they Montagues or Capulets — seemed real to him. He felt numb, it was as if his friends’ deaths had created a wall between him and the outside world, and nothing could breach that wall.

Not even Lady Montague’s sudden demise, even though Benvolio had always respected and loved his aunt; not even Lord Montague’s grief and misguided ire; nothing could break that wall, nothing could pull Benvolio from the ocean of numbness, and he was slowly but surely sinking.

And the ocean run deep. 

Escalus’s eyes are tired, but his smile is unexpectedly warm; his black clothes are simple, unlike the Capulets’ and the Montagues’ fancy mourning outfits; and it feels like a punch in the gut. Maybe it’s because he is honest. Maybe it’s because behind his eyes and his smile, Benvolio feels, for the very first time, the same deep ocean and not a shallow pond.

And just like that, he is not alone anymore.

“Benvolio?”

He’s probably been silent for too long, Benvolio realizes, and hastily clambers to his feet; only to be stopped by a hand clasping his shoulder. 

“You don’t have to go anywhere. Val will be with you soon.”

He nods, but remains standing, still too numb to react properly. Escalus lets him go and steps away, and for some reason, the loss of contact feels wrong.

Nothing new. Too many things feel wrong these days.

The Prince shrugs on a black leather coat, and it feels like yet another punch in the gut. Black, not silver. Right.

It should be silver.

Wait, what? 

“But before I go, and before Val comes,” Escalus sighs audibly, and Benvolio’s attention snaps back to his sad, tired face. 

This is wrong, too. Dammit, the man, Mayor or not, is more of a cousin to Mercutio. He’s what, twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Can’t be more than that-

...he looks forty.

How old does Benvolio look?

“Benvolio, I do not know if my words are going to be of any help to you or not, or even if you can believe me; but please know that I am glad I found you there. I may not seem too welcoming,” Escalus smiles again, and Benvolio, despite himself, grins nervously in response, “but I speak the truth.”

Impossibly, for the first time since his friends’ deaths, something feels real. The eyes, the smile, the hand on his shoulder; the black leather coat; the words. 

Impossibly, Escalus’s words feel real.

Impossibly, Benvolio believes him.

* * *

When nothing feels real, it is hard to believe people’s words. You don’t think they are lying, no; you just can’t bring yourself to believe they’re speaking the truth.

Until you can.

And reality comes back.

_And it is silver._


End file.
